


the courage of stars

by oceanhearted



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus - Freeform, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Rogue One, Rogue One Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanhearted/pseuds/oceanhearted
Summary: [Pre-Canon] Rogue One, and a lesson in hope.Adverse moments that led the crew of Rogue One to the defining moment of their lives.
Kudos: 2





	the courage of stars

**Author's Note:**

> i got emotional about rogue one again after watching [this video essay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xOyD0zHQFsU), so have this. i like star wars a normal amount. 
> 
> content warning: spoilers. title is from [saturn by sleeping at last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzNvk80XY9s).

i.

Cassian Andor learns to hold a gun when he's six. It's big and heavy and complicated, not made for six year olds; his small, thick fingers can't hold them very well. He earns a smack to the back of his head and a vicious reprimanding that has him dismissed early and crying himself to sleep that night, when he accidentally sets it off after losing his grip on it during practice.

The rebel base is unkind to kids like him—young, orphaned, incompetent. He learns very quickly that they have no reason to be; _everyone_ is hurting, after all, and he shouldn't expect that much from people who've been hurt just the same way, if not worse off, than himself. He sees soldiers who'd lost their limbs the day before begging to be assigned their next mission right away; sometimes they do, when the base is short of manpower. He brings food to people he knows won't get up from their quarters for days on end, sneaking bites off their still-full servings before bringing it back to the kitchen come nighttime. He sees kids a few years his senior who'd remorselessly snatch his juice box off his lunch tray just the day before come home in body bags too big for them. But eventually, he sees everyone alike do the same—desperately searching for some way, any way they can help out, no matter how incapable or incapacitated they are, for the sake of families they've lost, for friends they've made, for the collective cause they believed in.

 _The cause._ What is this cause? What came before the cause? He was born into the chaos which surrounds him, thrust into the thick of it involuntarily, much like the other kids he calls his peers. How could he truly fight for a better world when he couldn't even envision it? He's just as hard-pressed to find an adult who'll talk about it without sending him away with an earful for neglecting his training. _It's too painful to talk about it yet,_ one of them tells him, but he doesn't know what that means. It's just as painful to have to live his day-to-day like this, he thinks, being left in the unknown. He wouldn't ever know a world before the Empire, and he'd be lucky if he lived to see the world after, if it ever came to begin with. This much he's come to know, and understand; now he has to learn to brace himself for it. To fight for the future of people who haven't even come to see the world yet.

It's _unfair._ That is as much of a fact as everything else.

(He just wants to be with his family again.)

And yet... he doesn't understand the _desire_ he still feels in spite of it all. The foolish kind of thought that kept everyone else in the Rebel Alliance going, despite the relentless struggle and bloodshed they faced everyday. He didn't want to be a part of this. He didn't want to live a life of pain. If it hurts this much, now, surely there's nothing left for him in the years, and years, to come. He tells himself he can't be thinking that way anymore. That _desire._ That there's no point to wanting more than what he had, right now.

But still. _But still._ He looks out the window of his cramped bunker and counts the stars through blurred vision (they look like galaxies, this way), stifling his sobs, until he falls asleep imagining the worlds that could exist in each and every one of them. Worlds that desired the very same thing he did. He thinks of himself thriving on those very worlds, someday. Thriving _for_ those worlds.

(Somehow, he still cares too much to lose everything again. To have others lose everything the same way.)

He doesn't make the same mistake, the next day. He becomes the best shooter in his cohort within the week.

ii.

"You are awake," Chirrut Îmwe asks, in the darkness, although it is more a statement than an answer. There is no use for Baze Malbus to pretend otherwise; his other half has always been too astute for his own good.

"I am," he breathes.

"You're thinking of something."

"That is an observation."

"You can't hide things from me, lover," Chirrut's smile is practically audible through the darkness. He is warm, curled up next to him. His presence soothes Baze, even if his sharp tongue otherwise annoys him.

 _"No-one_ can hide things from you," he grouses, then falls silent. Chirrut waits. He knows the other man is deep in thought. Others would find it uncanny; uncomfortable, even, but for someone who's hardened as much as he has over time, Baze finds comfort in how easily Chirrut sees through him. No-one else could do the same, and Baze prefers it that way, to be able to love someone so much despite being able to express so little of it, and even then, only for him. "I am thinking of home."

"Of Jedha?"

"Of Jedha before," he pauses, "before what it is now."

"Ah. It feels so distant, now, doesn't it?" His partner muses, running a hand down the length of his chest. Baze's breath still hitches whenever he feels those calloused fingers run over his scars, aged and uneven and grisly. Chirrut would always kiss each and every one of them, when they were together. _These scars were made for me, and so they belong to me. I would not ask for any more than what you are now._ "You are wondering if things will ever go back to the way they were."

They would not. Baze was no longer so foolish to think that way. But he thought of it often, allowed himself to be naïve ( _that was all it is,_ he told himself, _naïvety_ ). What Jedha would be like if things were different, had the Empire not taken it. How Jedha would have _thrived_.

"Aren't you wondering what I think?" Chirrut says, out of nowhere.

"You will tell me even if I do not ask."

Sure enough, the other man goes on. "I think it will. Maybe not now, and maybe not Jedha. But I think things will get better, that the Empire will get what it deserves. And the people will have a future to look forward to, again."

"That's quite the spirited statement."

"Who do you think I learnt it from?" Baze will never comprehend how Chirrut sees through him the way he does. "I know your love for our home still exists. It's why you're in so much pain. But some fights are harder than others, bigger than what we will ever know. We can only make the most of what we have, within the roles we play as Guardians."

He knows that much is true. He's always known. But he still wants to be _naïve_.

"Besides, we can make home out of anywhere. All we need is each other."

Baze says nothing. He feels too fond to, opting to hold his partner close instead. Chirrut knows him well enough to understand this.

"In any case, one way or another, I believe that the Force will fulfill."

Now Baze doesn't hold back his scoff, pulling away to look at his partner. "I don't think the Force works that way, if at all."

Chirrut's eyes practically light up in the darkness. "You are a man with a very big heart that believes, even if you pretend to not have it."

_"Hush."_

"Make me."

He does.

iii.

Galen Erso never asks of him easy tasks. It's a wonder Bodhi Rook manages to skirt by these duties competently, for someone as nervous and bumbling as he is; _incompetent_ is what he ultimately calls it. He's only a cargo pilot, after all, and he's never had the smarts to become a _proper_ Imperial pilot. Galen somehow trusts him regardless, seeing a value in Bodhi from the day he was assigned to Galen that the pilot will never understand, listening to his opinions (most upper-ranked personnel would've shot Bodhi down before he got to that point), somehow _praising_ him for his so-called _insights_ (Galen, a _leading Imperial scientist,_ of all people!), endlessly touting Bodhi's so-called _capabilities_ to anyone he's introduced to; Bodhi will put himself down until the day he dies, he thinks, although he'd be hard-pressed to deny the complete elation it gives him, to receive it from a man, a leader he admires so very much.

(A _hero,_ he would continue the thought, but something in his chest tightens when he thinks of Galen that way. He doesn't know why, though, he tells himself.)

So when he's summoned by Galen, one day, he doesn't think any different of it.

"Sir," Bodhi reports, leaning in from the doorway of Galen's quarters. Galen turns to him and smiles, stood at the centre of the room, as if previously deep in thought, gazing out the expanse of his widescreen window. Bodhi's been lost the same way, before. The beauty of the galaxy would never outgrow itself.

"Bodhi. I've told you no need for formalities. Galen is fine," the scientist's endless patience never fails to astound Bodhi. "I hope I haven't interrupted you from anything."

"Not at all, s— _Galen,"_ Bodhi cringes at the casualness regardless, and Galen chuckles at him. Bodhi's mortified, but when is he not. "I wasn't... up to anything." He really wasn't. People of his status often had nothing to oversee before their next assignment, which was also what gave him so much time with Galen.

"Good, good. Because I suspect I'll be borrowing quite a bit of your time."

This makes Bodhi nervous, but when does anything not. "Oh. How do you mean?"

"Come on in," Galen gestures at him, and Bodhi does as he's asked, the door quickly sliding shut behind him and making him jump.

Bodhi's eyes sweep the room. Books far from Bodhi's level of comprehension, neatly shelved. Blueprints and tech scattered all over his desk, some of which have fallen onto the floor. A small picture frame hung against the wall; aside from Galen, he doesn't recognise the people in it, but he's never seen the man so happy before. He's never been called into Galen's quarters like this. His workspace, sure. But this is too personal. Too serious. Bodhi's not very bright, but even he can sense the urgency radiating from the scientist. It's uncomfortable, seeing him like this.

"Is there anything..." he starts. Galen's gaze is a little too intense for his liking. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I suppose I should get straight to the point. Do you believe in the Empire's cause?"

"I—" Bodhi's completely caught off-guard by this. "Sir, of course I do," he immediately answers, straightening up. _Is this a test?_

Galen practically reads his mind. "You aren't being listened into here, don't worry, I've made sure to disable the surveillance tech they've installed, but we only have so much time. Right now, you can be truthful, to me. This isn't a trick. I'm sure you know me well enough to determine that."

"I'm being truthful," Bodhi insists. "I've always been loyal to the Empire. Serving it—serving _you_ has been a childhood dream come true. Of course I—"

"What do you know about the Death Star?" Galen interrupts, questioning him. Bodhi gapes back at him. "This is no different than my usual back-and-forths with you. Tell me what you know about the Death Star."

So Bodhi does. He tells Galen what everyone is told about the Death Star—that it's a weapon of peace that'll triumph the battle against the Rebel Alliance. But Galen presses on.

"You may not have known this, Bodhi, but I am the leading scientist tasked with bringing the Death Star to life." Bodhi's heart drops at his words. "You also may have not known this, but the Death Star's main source of power is Kyber crystals. The short of it is that Kybers concentrate the Force in a unique way that, when utilised a certain way, have the power to cause immense damage. The Death Star bears a hypermatter reactor that focuses these Kybers into a weapon that has the power to destroy _planets._ Now tell me if that sounds like a weapon of peace to you."

Bodhi gapes back at him. He can't get the words out. He can barely believe what he's just heard. It must be a joke—but this is _Galen Erso,_ and the man is known for his expertise. If what the _leading scientist_ on the Death Star tells him is the truth...

"I'll ask you again, Bodhi," Galen's gaze is unwavering; _piercing_ . Not even Bodhi can break it, as much as it pains him. "Do you _truly_ believe in the Empire's cause?"

"I—I—"

(Ah. Well, there it is.)

Bodhi can't take it. He finally turns his gaze away.

"I don't know why," he admits. "I don't know why I felt this way, before... before what you've just told me. I—I really mean it, when I say, that it was a childhood dream for me to be standing here, now. But there's always been this... _feeling."_ His voice hitches. "When the... when the Imperial troops landed in Jedha, we were taught that the Empire is just. That the Empire is the greater cause in a fight between right and wrong. My mother never approved of my enlisting. I couldn't see why, back then. I just wanted to be a part of that cause. I wanted to be a _hero._ And now that I... now that I've seen what's become of settlements where the Empire has landed... now that I—I've played a part in... what I can only explain as _causing_ _suffering..._ I can't sit by like this, anymore, and feel like I'm still doing the right thing. But I—I can't just, get out of this, now—"

Galen walks towards him, extends his arm. Bodhi flinches—until Galen pulls him into a hug. And that's when Bodhi finally _breaks._

It takes awhile for him to compose himself. It's embarrassing, really, but Galen is nothing but patient through it all. When his sobs stifle down into hiccups, Galen finally pulls away, grasping his shoulders tightly.

"You and I have made many mistakes, Bodhi, whether we knew better or otherwise. It's too late for me, now—the damage I've caused, the lives I've cost. The pain that I've caused my wife and daughter." He looks away, for a moment, to the frame hung against the wall. "But it's not for you. This is how you can make things right, by yourself. By the galaxy. If you're brave enough, if you'll listen to your heart. And I know that you have it in you to do it."

Bodhi says nothing. He can't. There's a lump in his throat, and the pounding in his chest almost drowns out Galen's words. But he commits each and every one of them into memory.

"I know this is a lot to ask of you, Bodhi. I wouldn't fault you for backing away. For turning me in, even. No matter your answer, this conversation will have never taken place. But I must ask of you this. You're the only person who can do something about this. You, and only you."

Somehow, it feels like his whole life's been leading up to this.

"Are you willing to go against the Empire, for my sake? For _the galaxy's_ sake?"

(Somehow, the tightness in his chest undoes itself.)

Galen Erso never asks of him easy tasks.

iv.

Jyn Erso dreams often. _Literally_ dreams. She's long past the days where she'd allow herself to believe in a higher power, to believe that the galaxy would someday _will_ itself into a better place. She stopped the day she saw her mother shot in front of her, and her father taken away, although back then she hadn't known it yet. The day Saw Gerrera abandoned her was the day she came to terms with the fact.

She would always be alone. Better by choice than by circumstance. At least then she would have control.

Her rests have always been another story, however. Even back in better days—she would often have fitful dreams, only placated by her father's arms or her mother's soothing lullabies. She was often afraid to sleep without one of them next to her. She could never articulate it, as a child, but having lived a portion of her life within the Empire, overhearing her parents prepare for endless scenarios as they settled from their escape while she pretended to sleep, she was always convinced that she would eventually lose them, somehow.

Now the memories—and dreams—only bring her heartache. It made her tired. It made her so, _so_ tired. Sometimes she thinks it would be easier to rest for a very, _very_ long time.

She goes out of her way to avoid sleep, sometimes, when she can afford to. But more often than not, a fugitive like herself needs rest. And with rest comes—

_Mama takes off the necklace around her neck. It has a Kyber crystal tied to its end—Papa gave it to her as a gift for a special day, when they still lived in the Empire. "They're what Jedi Lightsabers are made of," he told her, once. And now Mama has hung it around Jyn's neck._

_"Jyn, trust the Force."_

_The Force will have protected her, Jyn thinks to herself desperately, when she watches the Death Trooper shoot her down, when she watches Papa scramble towards her, his expression unlike anything she's seen before. She should have done as she's told. She returns quickly to the hiding space when their old friend declares that she be looked for._

_In it she's cold, and alone, in the darkness. She wants nothing more than her parents right now, and she knows that they would have told her to be brave, to wait for their friend to come. But she cries all the same. She doesn't know how long she has to wait. She doesn't know if Papa and Mama's friend will ever come for her. She had to trust the Force—but surely the Force didn't play tricks on someone as devout as Mama was, to have let her die, just like that, and have taken Papa away from her._

_All the Force did is leave her alone._

"Excuse me."

Jyn jolts awake, her hand already poised to unsheathe her knife. But it was just a little boy, somehow in more tatters than herself, and more startled than herself. There are a few other stragglers settled around her, next to what she now realises is a morning market being set up, but the boy didn't seem to have been with any of them.

"I'm sorry. I think I woke you up. I'm not dangerous," the boy continues, his voice small, afraid. Sure enough, he didn't seem dangerous, although Jyn has known children like him to be—still, she relaxes herself, tries to hold back the tears threatening to surface, the dream still fresh in her mind. She's dreamt worse. She's _lived_ worse. But she still finds herself... _affected_ by it. "I just wanted to ask if—if you had any food."

She did. But she isn't exactly well-to-do, either.

"My mom's—sick. She can't work. So I—I look for food, for us," the boy's lip trembles, and Jyn softens even more. She's been in his place, after all, albeit under much different circumstances.

"What's your name?" She asks. The boy hesitates.

"Mom says I shouldn't tell strangers my name."

Jyn can't help her chuckle. "Your mom gives good advice. It's not much, but I have some rations I can give you," the boy's eyes immediately lights up as she rummages through her rucksack, unearthing a handful of airtight packets. It's not enough to share, but she used to need someone to do the same as she's about to do for him. She'd have to make time to do some scavenging, but it's nothing she's unfamiliar with. "Here, you can have this."

"Are you sure?" The boy asks. It's almost too good to be true, isn't it?

"Yeah. Take it. Don't worry, I have more."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" The boy hugs her, catching her by surprise; he pulls away just as quickly, before she can even think to reciprocate, holding the rations close to his chest. "May the Force be with you!"

And just like that, he runs off. She watches him disappear into the growing crowd.

The Force, huh?

_Jyn, trust the Force._

Well, it certainly worked in the kid's favour. Maybe today would be a good day.

v.

It was never in its place to question the Empire. Nor was it ever in its place to question the Rebel Alliance. K2-SO is a tool, which it has no qualms with (should it have the capacity to). A purpose is a purpose, and while it never passes up the chance to give Cassian hell in their day-to-day missions, it's simply doing what its been programmed to do (which is also his convenient excuse for giving Cassian hell; he's the one who reprogrammed the droid, after all). It simply does as much as is asked from it. It _obeys._ Nothing more, nothing less.

It's what it's good at, really. Other than strategic analysis. That, K-2 was _created_ to be good at. It's what gets it in a lot of trouble from everyone, too. Talk about being ungrateful, if there's one thing both sides have in common.

"Be a little more optimistic, K," Cassian chides it during one of their many missions together. "Ever heard of having a little faith?"

"I don't subscribe to human delusions, unfortunately."

This mission should have been no different. Capture and utilise a fugitive girl as leverage. Intercept an Imperial scientist's plans. Cassian returns with a bit of blood in his hands. Easy. They've seen more grueling and threatening missions than this one. Yet somehow _this_ is the one that's spiraled into a bigger part of the capital C- _Cause._

Frankly, K-2 thinks nothing better of Causes, beyond them being a cause of annoyance for him. The _girl,_ most of all. The sheer audacity of the attitude she's shown it. And Cassian too, of course, but mostly K-2. At least _it's_ an asset. This girl has been nothing but trouble from the moment she got herself a blaster and started mouthing off at him like no-one's business (when she was, unfortunately and in fact, Cassian and K-2's business).

Well, the planet destroyer was also trouble. Very, _very_ big trouble. The biggest trouble he's ever had to compute. But still. _The girl._

Then again, it also can't deny how things have gotten a little more... _interesting,_ with her around. Droids have never been the verbose kind—what little interaction it's attempted with the others in the Rebel base has certainly solidified as much, and if they were, they were somehow even _more_ annoying that K-2; a particular one comes to mind in this regard—but that's the most succinct way to describe her, really. Interesting. The way she behaves somehow goes again every one of its calculations, and that's usually a surefire recipe for disaster. But she's gone so far to _defy_ every one of its odds, almost as if she's actively trying to put it out of a job.

(It's not a bad thing, of course, when every one of these odds have spelt nothing but doom. But how can someone do this over, and over, and _over?_ It boggles the droid mind.)

Which is why K-2 makes it a point to tell Cassian that, "If I can put in my two credits, think we should be heading to Scarif regardless." It immediately takes offence to the capital L- _Look_ the captain gives him.

"Of all people to be telling me that, I didn't think you would be the first."

"Well I'm no people. If anyone asks, it wasn't my idea. I don't think we've had a lower probability of success than this, so I don't care what you decide to do."

"That's what you always say. In any case, you and I aren't the only ones who share your first sentiment."

And thus begins K-2's first, and—what it knew, with every calculable certainty to be—last, Rogue One mission. It holds its thoughts back, though, for once in its increasingly limited life, which one would think is a good reason to air out every single grief it had, but still. _Have a little faith,_ even though every step they begin to take, every move they begin to make from here on out is one closer to the end.

(Is it really in its programming to fulfill a death wish head on?)

It becomes just as certain to everyone else, when the planet's shield gate closed down. No-one says it, not even K-2. But deep down, they know. They've quite literally been driven into a corner. But K-2 expertise is strategic analysis for a reason, and it determines that taking the shield gate down and transmitting the plans is the only chance they have left. It's a high risk game, but it's no different from any other of their missions. That being endlessly bleak, with no probability of success in sight.

It's one they play regardless. Cassian trusts it, as he always does; but the girl is the one who turns back to it before going to locate the plans, stepping towards it.

"You'll need this. You wanted one, right?"

It stares at the blaster held out in front of its hands. It stares back at the person who's holding out the blaster in front of its hands.

(No, it's just having a little faith.)

“Your behaviour, Jyn Erso, is continually unexpected.” 

None of them would make it out alive, but the probability of success in its calculations becomes certain.


End file.
